Kiss Me Hard Before You Go
by valonqar
Summary: Amidst the war between the Earth and Fire nations, the women of the water tribes act as healers, helping the soldiers who find their way into camps. When Katara finds herself with a different sort of patient — a scarred man dressed in a Fire Nation uniform — she finds herself questioning everything she's ever known. Zutara.


"Who is he?"

"I don't know. Found him in the middle of the river like this, hasn't opened his eyes once. I doubt he'll last the night, but we have to try."

"He's Fire Nation."

"He's hurt. That's all that matters."

Katara eyes the man suspiciously, the elder nurse's statement not changing the way she feels about the broken figure in front of her one bit. He _is_ hurt, she can see that. There are bloody gashes where the arrows had pierced his skin in multiple places, a wound that runs deep across his face. If he survives it'll scar, they all will, but she doubts he'll be too torn up about that — half of his face is already burnt off anyways, so she doesn't think that a few more jagged lines to add to the collection will make such a difference.

He's hurt, but she has no pity for him. Fire Nation is Fire Nation, and although her tribe of healers is meant to take no stance in the war, she knows what side of the line she lies on, and what side he does. Still, she has said a vow, and with her elder still staring at her apprehensively Katara knows she has no choice.

"I will heal him," she says, not taking her eyes off of the unconscious figure before her. The unburnt side of his face is rather handsome, she concludes, and somewhere in the back of her mind she pictures him burning cities to the ground, standing in front of the flames like some sort of god of war. The image is enough to make her sick to her stomach, and she has to force her next words out. "I will try my hardest, I swear it. But once he is awake, he will leave this camp immediately. I won't be waiting hand and foot on a_murderer_." Katara spits the word out, her mother's face and the faces of countless others flashing in her mind as she does, and clenches her hands into fists at her sides.

"You're doing the right thing," Hama tells her, placing a hand on her shoulder, but the attempt at comfort is unwanted and Katara shakes it off. She's not doing it for this man's benefit, and she's not doing it because she _wants_ to.

In any case, she crouches beside his body and uses the buckets of water on the ground to begin the healing process, making a point of not glancing at his face once. He's her patient, yes, but he's not a person, not really, and she doesn't intend to treat him as such.

He lasts the night, and many after.

His eyes still haven't opened once — Katara would know, seeing as she's been instructed to stay by his bedside twenty-four seven. She's not particularly thrilled about it in the least, but all of her superiors and fellow healers are thrilled with how her work has been going, and she has to admit that the recognition does feel nice. It's not something she gets often, and even if it's for saving the life of a firebender, it's still something she can appreciate. For the moment, at least.

Every morning she brushes his long black hair until it shines, and every night she bathes him in his tent with a sponge, keeping him as clean as she can. It won't do her any good if his cuts get infections, or if bugs start living in his scalp. Not when she wants him out of there as soon as possible, when she's desperate to see his sorry ass out of their camp and as far away as possible. If she could kill him herself, she would; every day she spends by his side she finds herself a step closer to the edge, to that point of no return. But every day she stays her hand, just to prove to herself that she's better than them, that she won't stoop to their level.

Besides, he's not the _one_, and Katara knows that. Too young, too handsome — she would recognize that man anywhere, and he's certainly not lying on the ground in front of her. If he was, she wouldn't have hesitated. Not once, not for a moment.

So she changes his linens and brushes his hair and cleans his wounds, and works on healing them every day, but the cuts are deep and the damage isn't going to be easy to take away. Katara was one of the best in the world, but even she couldn't work miracles. All she could do was sit by his bed every day and wait, watching him as he lies in what seemed like an endless sleep.

She watches his face as it moves — he's dreaming, she's seen it in unconscious patients right before they wake up. Some of them smile, some of them even laugh, but this man does neither of those things. Instead his lips pull down into a tight frown, his eyebrows furrow, his hands clench, and even with his eyes closed Katara can feel the fear radiating off of him. It's clear that these are no ordinary fever dreams; these are nightmares, and they come for him often. Sometimes in the middle of the night she wakes up to his screams, loud and anguished and full of pain, and it is those times that she actually allows herself to feel some sort of pity, of sympathy of the Fire Nation soldier who lay on his deathbed. Those moments were rare, few and far between, but when they come they terrify her more than his tortured screams, and she chooses not to dwell on them for long.

At the end of his second month in the infirmary Healer Hama enters the tent to check up on the progress of his recovery, a strange look in her eyes when she studies the man, and Katara can't help but wonder if this is really an ordinary check-up after all. But when she voices her concerns all Hama does is frown, shake her head and leave the tent, and it serves to do nothing but add fuel to the young woman's curiosity. There has been gossip around the camp that he's someone important, someone the Fire Nation will be on the hunt for, but she doesn't think that's quite it. Close, but not quite, and she thinks that Hama knows that too.

She thinks that Hama knows who their mystery patient is, or at least has an idea, and that in itself is beginning to drive her mad. And spirits know she can't just ask the older woman, that she has no right to, so she asks someone else instead.

"Who are you?"

She asks her patient this near every night before she goes to bed, blue eyes steady as she stares him down as if his face is going to reveal some sort of truth. It's not that she really cares, because if she cared that would imply that she cared about him, and that couldn't be farther from the truth in her own mind. All it is is an insatiable curiosity, because while Katara knows he's not him, that he can't be, she can't shake the same feeling that Hama has. That the gossip is wrong, because were he someone the Fire Nation wanted desperately they surely would have found him already. But he's someone important, she knows that much. She just…can't quite figure out who.

"Who _ar_e you?" she asks, but still he doesn't answer her, and Katara begins to wonder if he ever will.

On the ninety-sixth day of his treatment, the young firebender finally awakens.

Katara is tending to his wounds when it happens, so intent on her task that she doesn't even notice is eyes open. It's not until she hears the hiss of pain that she looks up from what she's doing, blue orbs meeting golden ones, and she's so shocked that she stops mid-bending, dropping the water all over him and soaking them both. Cursing, she bends it back into the bucket before turning her attention back to the now-alert man in the bed, noting how different he looks now that he's awake.

While he slept, she found herself imagining different scenarios for his life out of boredom; she would pretend that he was some sort of Fire Nation vigilante, or an earth-bender assassin in disguise as a firebending soldier that had been ambushed. After spending weeks on end with him she found she could no longer despise the unconscious man — after all, he wasn't even awake. She hadn't liked him or cared for him or anything like that, but she had been indifferent, setting prejudices aside and putting her healing first, simply hoping for the best when he woke up and praying that he wouldn't flip and burn their camp to the ground.

But now he's awake, and his eyes are gold, and he looks just like a stereotypical citizen of the Fire Nation should, and she finds herself both curious and furious at once.

She wants to smack him. She gets the sudden urge to just knock him unconscious once more, put him to sleep — hopefully for good. It's irrational and sudden and terrifyingly powerful, but Katara restrains herself, remembering her duty, her job, her part in the war. She's not a killer, but quite the opposite, and she's meant to be unbiased. So, with a great amount of effort she manages a smile, and although it's tense and forced she thinks that he'll just have to deal with it and be happy.

"Good morning," she says to him, an unnatural amount of cheeriness in her voice. "It's nice to see you awake. We weren't sure you would make it."

"Make it?" His voice is raspy and deep, and it sends shivers down Katara's spine. Whether they are from fear or something else entirely she doesn't know, but she chooses to ignore it completely. Finally he seems to notice the angry red wounds that cover his body, and blinks in surprise. "What…what happened to me? Where have you taken me?"

Of course. All of their patients were convinced that they had been kidnapped when they first woke up, and she was sure that for a member of the Fire Nation that prospect was a little more daunting than it was for some of the others. Rolling her eyes, she resumed the healing that she had been busy with prior to him waking up, feeling pleased when she noted how well the cuts were actually healing. Hama would be thrilled when she saw, and even more so when she heard that their mystery patient had finally awoken. It had seemed as if the older woman was growing as impatient as Katara as the days went on.

"We haven't kidnapped you, so calm down and stay still. We're healing you, and then you're free to resume with burning down houses or whatever it is you Fire Nation soldiers do." She's shocked by her own rashness, by the bitterness in her voice, and she can tell that the young man is too. But she pays it no mind, continuing with her task and glancing up at his face once more. "You've been unconscious for three months, and I've been taking care of you every day during that time. My name is Katara, and I am a healer."

He looks shocked, lost for words, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes once more. Her patience with this man is little, she finds, and it's not really a surprise to her.

After many moments have passed and he still hasn't responded, she raises an eyebrow at him. "Well? Who are you, then? It would only be polite to introduce yourself to the woman who's wasted months of her life saving yours, you know." His face remains blank for a second more, and then his golden eyes turn to meet her own, a look of confusion clear in them.

"I'm not going to burn down villages. I'm not even part of the Fire Nation anymore. I was banished years ago." He trails off, looking down at her hands as they pause over his wounds, fingers trembling as her breath catches in her throat. Could he be…? It was impossible, of course, but then he continued to talk, and Katara found her world thrown out of balance one more. "Zuko. My name is Zuko."

As soon as the words are out of his moth, she rushes out of the tent to find Hama. Because the banished Prince Zuko has found his way into their tent, and suddenly Katara knows he has brought them more trouble than he is worth.

The next night she sits in his tent with him, feeding him soup as he lies propped up against the pillows. They sit in silence — tension is thick in the air, and Katara finds herself at a loss for words. What was she to say to the most hated enemy of the Fire Nation, to the man who fought his sister and turned against his father, his _nation _to support the cause of peace?

She had heard stories about the fallen prince; they all had. He had been a firebending prodigy, sure to take the throne and sit in his father's spot. But they had said that his heart had always been softer than his fathers, that although he was angry and proud he was also merciful, and because of that disposition had been sheltered from the true horrors of the war. It was only when he turned fourteen that he had realized what was really happening outside the palace walls and, in a fit of rage, turned his anger on his sister who had been gloating about murdering an earthbender. Challenging her to an agni kai, he left himself forever and banned from his own country, not long after helping to train the Avatar in his firebending.

An amazing story, one that was told throughout the land — and there he was, lying in a tent in her camp covered in wounds, sore and bloodied and scarred, and she found herself with no words.

Finally Katara took it upon herself to break the awkward silence, glancing at him with thinly veiled curiosity. "Why were you dressed in Fire Nation robes when we found you? It's no wonder you were attacked looking like that." It had been bugging her all through the previous night and into the day, and he didn't seem the least bit surprised when she asked.

"We were meant to be going undercover; I had a helmet on before that covered my scar. It was never supposed to come off, but one of the commanders got suspicious, and…well, you know what happened after that." Wincing as he shifted positions, Zuko leaned forward to accept another spoonful of soup from her before continuing. "They must have thought I was dead when they left me there. My father will be thrilled to hear that." The bitterness in his voice is clear, and although Katara wants to push him more, to hear more of his story, she restrains herself. Now isn't the time, not when just the day before she had been thinking him a murderer and a criminal, and had blatantly accused him of such.

So instead she asks him how he's feeling, and he says fine, and thanks her for her hospitality, and they sit in silence, her feeding him and him trying to act like he was hurting less than he was, and she hopes to the spirits above that he'll be well enough to leave there soon.

The next day she visits him early in the morning, brush firmly in hand and thoroughly prepared for the awkwardness that awaited them.

However, Zuko seemed more thankful than anything, smiling at the sight of her walking into his tent. "You don't have to do this, really," he assures her, and although it's right on the tip of her tongue that she _has_ to take care of him, seeing as it's her job and all, she doesn't. Instead she just smiles back, propping him up against his pillows like she did the night before and sitting behind him.

"It's no trouble," she assures him, running the brush through the tangles in his dark hair softly. "We have to ensure that you're as comfortable as possible until you're fully healed. You are comfortable, right?" And he nods, all the confirmation Katara needs before continuing.

She still feels awkward around him — he still scares her. Because even though he's banished, even though he's a key part in the Earth Kingdom winning this war, he's still Fire Nation, and she can't help but shivering just slightly when she considers the implications of this. There is a flame that burns through his blood, she knows, and it worries her. At least the urge to murder him has vanished; not, caring for him doesn't seem like such a daunting task, so long as he remains a cooperative patients. Katara would be much happier were the Banished Prince Zuko as far out of her tent and away from her camp as possible, but she takes it upon herself to trust him as well as she can.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks her rather suddenly, snapping Katara out of her thoughts. She glances down at him with surprise, brush hesitating for just a moment before she resumes the periodic strokes down his hair.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" she says, amusement in her voice, and when she hears him chuckle it brings a small smile to her face. Laughter is always a sign of healing, and she thinks that he must be doing much better than before if he can laugh without experiencing too much pain. "But yes, I did. Healer Yue snores impressively loud for such a pretty girl, but I'm used to it by now." Two years of constant travelling with her fellow healers had made her accustomed to sleeping in practically every situation, and snoring was no longer something that bothered her than much anymore. "I trust you slept comfortably as well?"

"As comfortably as I could, given all this." He motions to the cuts that cover his body, significantly healed but still tender and red, and Katara frowns. If he is still in such pain that he can't sleep properly he will be in their camp for many more weeks, and that thought serves to upset her just a bit more than it should.

She doesn't let it show in her voice, however. "I'm sorry," she tells him, and she really does mean it. Giving his hair one final stroke with the brush, she moves back over to his side, kneeling in front of him and bringing the water to his wounds once more. "Does this help?" she asks as she bends the water over his damaged flesh, trying to gauge his reaction in his face. But what she sees is not what she expects.

He's looking at her in a way that makes her skin crawl, in a way that she is not in the least used to. He's looking at her like she's absolutely _fascinating _to him, like she's some sort of miracle of divine creation, like there's something special about what she's doing even though it's a mundane task, something she does every day. And he won't stop staring at her, even when she catches him, even when she stares back. He's staring and he won't stop staring, and just when she think that he's lost his mind entirely, he blinks and nods, and the moment is done.

"Yeah," Zuko says, leaning back against the pillows. "Yeah, that helps."

She doesn't dine with him that night, or come to him the morning after. Instead she lies in her bed, telling Hama that she's 'exhausted' and that she simply needs 'a day of rest'. The old woman is more than happy to assist — she's been waiting for ages to talk to Zuko, and Katara is sure that she's going to take full advantage of the opportunity.

But after a day of hiding in the tent, she knows that enough is enough. There's no reason for her to stay away from the young man. He's a patient, and that's it. No matter what he's done for the Earth Kingdom in the war, no matter just how famous and how important he is, no matter how curiously or how long he looks at her, he is a patient and she knows that, and he's _her_ patient. Besides, she pities anyone who has to be left in a tent with Hama for too long, and she's sure that the old healer's endless questions aren't going to be good for his recovery.

So two nights later she returns to his tent, noting his look of surprise — and relief — when he sees her.

"You're back," he states, a small smile on his face. "Were you sick?"

Katara considers lying to him. It wasn't a terrible lie, and it probably sounded much better than the truth. But she's never been much good at lying, and the words come out of her mouth before she is even aware of what she's saying. "No, just tired. I just…needed a break." _From you_. The words are unspoken, but she's sure they're obvious. Zuko's not an idiot, in any case. But he doesn't say a thing, just sits himself up and waits for her to set the tray of food down across his lap.

"You're doing better," she notes as she watches him eat, acting like a starving animal instead of the prince that he was as she shoved the food down his throat. Just days ago she had been feeding him with a spoon, so she's rather amazed by the progress he's made in such a short amount of time.

"I _feel_ better," he tells her as he swallows a piece of meat with a_ gulp, _a small smile gracing his face. "Thanks to you, of course." And then he pauses and looks at her curiously — not the look he gave her the other day, but one of pure confusion, as if she's some kind of anomaly that he can't quite figure out. "Would you mind if I ask you a question? It's a bit personal, I mean."

He sounds so unsure of himself that Katara almost feels sorry for him, and it's just because of that that she nods. Normally she wouldn't tell a patient anything, but she finds herself agreeing without hesitation. "I've changed your wrappings for three months; I think you have the right to ask me a personal question." The flush on Zuko's cheeks is enough to bring a giggle up her throat, but she refrains herself — his pride has probably taken enough of a hit already, thanks to her.

"I was just wondering," he began, raspy voice quite as he looked down at his hands. "Why you agreed to heal me. I mean, _you _personally. Because I can tell that you hate firebenders more than most people. I could tell when I woke up."

Katara wasn't surprised that he had seen through her transparent act, but the questions still caught her off guard. She pauses for a moment, gulps and glances at him, but his golden eyes aren't revealing anything to her. Instead his unwavering gaze only serves to make her more uncomfortable, and she has to look away before she finds herself doing something she'll end up regretting in the long run.

"The Fire Nation took my mother." There is a slight tremor in her voice, and no matter how hard she tries to hide it she's sure he's noticed. "When I saw you…I _knew_ you weren't the one, but I thought…if I healed you, and I you woke up, maybe taking your life would help fix it." Katara is shocked at her own admission, at the words spilling out of her mouth. She hadn't even been aware that she had felt that way until that moment, and the revelation itself is enough to bring a tear to her eye. "I'm sorry," she tells him, although what exactly for she isn't quite sure.

His hand brushes the tear away from her cheek, trembling as he does so; he's still weak, still not quite there, but he's trying for her, and that's enough to make her cry even more. "Don't apologize." Zuko's ragged voice is firm and unwavering, but she thinks there might be a hint of anger buried underneath it, anger that she was sure wasn't meant for her. "Don't be sorry. I wouldn't have blamed you."

And there's such conviction, such honesty in his words that she can't help but believe him, can't help but believe the fact that had she killed him to fulfil some sick fantasy of hers, he would have taken it willingly. "They took my mother too," he tells her, and suddenly she understands.

All at once the situation becomes too much for her, and Katara pushes herself off of the ground, finding that she can no longer remain in this tent with him. It's not good for her mind, not good for her sanity, and she should have realized that when he had first showed up in front of her, bloody and broken and on death's doorstep. She should have never agreed to heal him, she _knows_ that, and as she turns to leave him for the last time he catches hold of her wrist, and she's shocked at how strong he has become over the last couple of days.

"

Don't leave," and he's almost begging her, desperation thick in his voice, clouding his eyes. "Please."

And even though she knows it's wrong, that Hama will murder her for this, Katara lays down on the cushioned bed beside him in silence, body stiff and tense until he grabs her hand, squeezing it, letting her know that it's okay.

She stays that way until morning, when the pillows are stained with her tears, and she realizes with a mild sense of horror that in all her days as a healer, she's never had such a peaceful sleep.

It's weeks later, and they haven't mentioned the incident since.

She heals him and feeds him and brushes his hair until he can do it himself, and when it gets to that point she simply sits by him, asking him about his travels while he asks about hers, and although they are comfortable together and Katara considers Zuko her friend, there is still something noticeably off.

However, both are stubborn and neither are willing to mention the sky buffalo in the room, so they chat and carry on their days as normal, trying their hardest to shake the whole thing from their minds. For Katara, however, she finds that becoming increasingly impossible as the days go by, and she was almost certain that Zuko felt the same. He _had_ to — because surely she couldn't be the only one of them who was feeling that way.

Lost, hopeless, confused, and above all, endlessly and tragically alone.

On the first monday of the sixth month of his stay he is finally able to get up and walk, and although his legs are wobbly and unsure and he can barely take more than five steps at a time, she doesn't think she's seen such pure joy on Zuko's face before.

"This means that I can leave the camp soon!" he had exclaimed, grinning at her like a child. "I won't be in your hair for much longer, Healer Katara." And even though she knows that he's just messing around with her, she can't ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach, or the way her heart drops just at the prospect of it. What would she do at the camp without him? Things would just go back to normal, she knew, but she also knew that for whatever reason, she didn't want that.

What had he _done_ to her?

It turned out he had been right, in any case. A month later, and Zuko was walking and running and fighting and even_ bending_, and even though Katara knew that she should have been thrilled for him, she just…wasn't. She was happy, she was relieved, but she was also anxious, upset, and even a little bit annoyed.

His last night in the camp he had invited her to have dinner with him in his tent — his treat, apparently, and the healer had agreed without hesitation. She certainly wasn't going to pass up spending his last night with him, and honestly she was rather pleased that he would rather spend his time with her and her alone than with the camp as a whole. She was his _favourite, _he had informed her many times, but still she found herself touched by the whole thing, especially by the fact that he was cooking dinner for her. It was all very…well, she wasn't sure what it was, but it was definitely nice, and definitely something she would enjoy.

When she arrived at the tent the sun had already set, and she had taken special care to wear her nicest, cleanest robes, even taking her hair out of her usual braid and allowing it to curl around her shoulders. Yue had assured her that she looked beautiful, but all Hama had done was give her a knowing glance, one that set butterflies off in Katara's stomach.

That old lady knew _way _more than anyone had the right to.

Upon entering his tent Katara saw that he had set up pillows and candles all around a little table covered in food — food that, admittedly, look delicious. Grinning at Zuko's back, she waited for him to notice her presence, although after a moment she grew impatient and simply spoke up herself.

"This is wonderful, Zuko."

He turned then, smiling, but the look fell when he saw her. For a moment Katara found herself cursing Yue —_ liar, trying to sabotage her, how dare she…_but then the smile returned, even brighter than before, and she found herself blushing under his gaze.

Yeah, she had lost her mind.

"You look different. Amazing different," he told her, sounding nervous, and she couldn't help the slight giggle that escaped her lips. She didn't think that Zuko, son of the Fire Lord Ozai could even _get_ nervous, but then again, he had proved her wrong on more accounts than that. Looking a bit sheepish, he grabbed her hand and guided her to the table, walk still a touch uneven but a million times better than he had been just months before, and that was enough to make her even happier.

They sat in silence for a while as she tried her food, smiling in confirmation to him that yes, it _was _edible, and yes, she _was _pleased. It was a comfortable silence, however, and one that Katara was happy to remain in until Zuko broke it without warning, sounding even more unsure than he had before.

"So I leave tomorrow," he began, and she raised an eyebrow as he stated the obvious. Glancing up at her from under his shaggy hair he cleared his throat, gathering his bearings before continuing. "And I didn't want to leave without telling you how brilliant you've been, and how thankful I am, and then I was thinking that I didn't want to leave at all — at least, I didn't want to leave _you_. I don't mind leaving the camp, but I didn't want to leave you. So then I was thinking…what if I didn't have to?" And he was staring at her with such pure hope that Katara could help but think that he was actually serious, that he actually couldn't fathom the idea of being somewhere without her, and that in itself was enough to make her lose words completely.

"You have to." She stated reluctantly, making it obvious that she wasn't in the least bit happy about the fact, but that it really was, indisputably, a fact. "We've written the Avatar, told him you're returning. You have your duties, Zuko, and I have mine." And she hated it, hated their duties and fucking responsibilities, but it was the truth, wasn't it?

"I know I have to, but I was just thinking," he twirled his hands together, twiddles his thumbs as he tried to find the proper words, and all Katara could do was stare at him expectantly. "Aang could use a healer with him, you know? We get into enough trouble, and you're such a gifted waterbender that you could help us fight. You could come with me, Katara. I already asked Hama and she agreed. You could come with me."

Her head was reeling, her mind racing in a million different directions at once, and Zuko was looking at her with such emotion in his eyes that she found no matter what she did, she couldn't look away. She stood up suddenly, pushing herself away from the table to kneel in front of him, pulling him so that they were so close their noses were almost touching, so close she could hear his breath and feel his heart beat and smell the sweetness of his skin.

She could go with him.

"You want me to come with you." The statement was said with a mixture of both wonder and confusion, wonder that was only increased when he nodded firmly. "Why?"

And then, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world, he simply said, "Because I love you," and it was that and that alone that made her decision come easily enough to her.

Katara caught his lips with hers before the words were fully out of his mouth, whispering his name like a prayer as she did so. The heat radiating off of him was intense, so intense it burned through his lips and into their veins, straight into the very core of her body, and all she could feel was love in it's purest form, a love so incredible that she was amazed she hadn't felt it before. And he kissed her back, soft and sweet and loving and nothing like what she had imagined a kiss from a former Fire Prince would be like, and it was so wonderful, so startlingly_ perfect_ that she couldn't help but marvel at the fact that it was actually real, and that she had never thought to try this in the past.

"Is that a yes?" he asked as he pulled away, a sweet smile on his scarred face, and she figured as she pulled him in for another kiss it would serve to be answer enough.


End file.
